Entry Number Three, Week Eight: Freewrite. "Naughty Girl."

I am a naughty girl, a selfish girl, a liar. I have not been consistently keeping up with my writing schedule. Sure, once-a-week, twice-a-week, whatever I can muster.  But even then, I'm not truly free writing. It's not for me. It's for someone else. Some other teacher. Some other organization. Some other individual. My lapse in commitment is probably disappointing to others. Does it mean I love writing less than another classmate? Absolutely not. I love writing. I appreciate writing. I appreciate those with the caliber to write well. I try to justify not writing daily because I have "too many other activities occurring." However, I don't think that is the absolute truth. I think I am just scared I won't  have anything special or meaningful to write about. That my writing will be superficial and bland. Cheesy. Not real. I also find myself comparing my works to those of others. How immature. I feel like a little girl again. A small part of me feels guilty for not being better disciplined, but at the same time, I feel I am making the right decisions for my psyche. Writing brings up unwanted, dark feelings. They distract me. Make me think of my demons. Take away from my productivity. I stop working; I think deeply. I laugh. I scream. I curse. I cry. I covet others's abilities. On days I write, I am burdened, but I feel intuitive and wise.

-Abigail Lawrence

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